


Fight or Flight

by bellax_xmuerte



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Confusion, Domestic Violence, Fight or Flight, M/M, Past Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 13:54:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3652875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellax_xmuerte/pseuds/bellax_xmuerte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy falls asleep while eating dinner at Harry's place. When he wakes up, he has no idea where he is and goes into fight mode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight or Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Also available on tumblr: http://nataliescourageclub.tumblr.com/post/115120251462  
> Feel free to send prompts!

I try not to be offended when Eggsy falls asleep, rather unceremoniously, at my table – his chin resting heavily on his chest, his knife and fork still clutched in his fists, my best attempt at a steak and kidney pie abandoned, half eaten.

Now, don't get me wrong, I've never claimed to be the most eloquent of speakers, but I do like to believe that I'm incapable of sedating a man with my dinner conversation alone. Call it self preservation, if you will. But there is, just for a moment, a burst of angry disbelief that shudders through my body like an violent, electric eel. Of course, when I look at him, when I look at those dark rings that circle his eyes, I can't be angry, or upset, or, God forbid, offended.

Only a fool would be upset by the fact that a young man with a rather, shall we say, turbulent home life has felt safe enough to close his eyes for a moment. How can he sleep when his mind is buzzing with violent _what ifs_ – what if he comes home drunk, what if he's looking for a fight, what if he staggers in here, what if hurts my mother, what if he hurts my little sister? No, you'd be hard pressed to be upset with someone like Eggsy, for falling asleep in your pie, when you consider all that.

I pull the napkin off my thighs, wipe the corners of my mouth, place the cloth on the table, and stand. I should move him to a chair, or my bed, lest he falls from his seat and does himself an injury. I can't just sit and wait for him to lose an eye to the corner of the table.

I move around the aforementioned table, towards him, but I keep my hands to myself. It's a very wise person who coined the expression _let sleeping dogs lie_. Flooding the dorm, for the training exercise, had proven how on edge Eggsy was when woken unexpectedly. No doubt, those metaphorical _what ifs_ transform rather quickly into _whats_ and _wheres_. If you can't afford the flight, all you have left is fight.

‘Eggsy.’ I say softly, cringing as he sways a little.

Nothing.

I clear my throat and try again, ‘Eggsy. _Eggsy_.’

I start to emphasise his name, hoping it'll wake him, though I'm careful never to use a tone that suggests anything other than exuberant calm.

I'm about to call out to him again when it all kicks off.

One of his fists slips off the table, it releases the fork which then, of course, clatters off the floor. I had swooped down to try and catch it, in a bizarre curtesy, but it's so unexpected that I miss it completely.

I don’t have time to damn my lack of foresight, or my startlingly poor reflexes, because Eggsy is suddenly, most certainly, awake – one hand around my throat as he pushes me up the kitchen cupboards, the other pressing a butter knife into my ribs. It's a very real threat, I've killed people with far less.

Eggsy is transformed before me - his eyes are wild, his breathing is laboured. I can feel his pulse through the hand he has on my neck. It's fast, far too fast. So, I raise my hands in surrender and hope that he sees me before he does any serious damage.

There's very little I can do without the possibility of harming him in some way. And I won't harm him. I can't hurt him because he's scared, or because he's forgotten where he is and is trying to protect himself and his family. It's not his fault that this is the first thing he does, it's habitual, he's been conditioned by circumstance.

‘It's just me, Eggsy.’ I say softly before adding, like they do in all of those overly dramatic films, ‘It's just me, it's just Harry.’

Perhaps shocked by my awful attempt at recreating cinematic drivel, Eggsy’s fingers tighten around my neck as his head tilts and he whispers, ‘I'll kill you. I'll fucking _kill_ you.’

‘Eggsy.’ I try again, my voice uneven from the compression, hoping to catch his eye, mimicking his head movements, ‘You’re safe. He's not here. There's no one here. It's just us, I promise you. It's just me and you.’

He holds me for a while, still and firm, like he's trying to comprehend what he sees, like he's trying to be sure I'm not some kind of spiteful hallucination.

Then it clicks.

Then he sees me.

‘H-Harry.’ He stammers, his hand still tight around my throat, the knife falling from his fist to the floor.

We both flinch at the sound.

‘Oh, God. Oh, _God_. Harry.’ He gasps, as he slowly loosens his fingers.

‘No, none of that.’ I say quickly, though my voice is not quite my own, ‘I'm perfectly fine.’

‘Harry.’ He says again, as his face falls, he shuffles back a little and starts looking around, ‘I need to go, I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry.’

He moves to leave, barely taking a step before I jut out an arm to stop him -  it's a determined action, it's purposeful, my limb stops exactly where I want it too, a good few inches away from his body.

‘You're okay here, you don't have to leave.’ I say, trying to sound reassuring, but he becomes agitated, pushing my arm down with force. I do a very poor job of masking my shock.

‘I just had my hands around your neck!’ He says angrily, ‘I had a knife to your ribs!’

‘Let's not get carried away, it was only a butter knife.’ I try to smile but it never materialises, because there's absolutely nothing funny about this. I suddenly feel like a schoolchild caught cheating on a test, I feel guilty. I feel small in a way I never have.

He marches up to me, his face centimetres away from mine. I've never seen him like this, in all the time we've spent together, he's like a bull. I clench my jaw, I try not to budge, but my instincts are telling me to back away.

‘You like getting knocked around?’ He spits, disgusted.

I shake my head, I try to tell him that I don't but his palms are hitting my chest, forcing me to step backwards, forcing me back up against the cupboards. I start to feel powerless - it's a small glimpse into his world and I'd be glad to never see it again.

‘Is this what you want?!’ He shouts, ‘Is this what you like?!’

‘I'm sorry.’ I say, one of my hands hovering mid air,  ‘Eggsy, I'm sorry.’

He looks at me then, at my raised arm, at my crumpled shirt, and the anger gives way to sadness as he says, ‘You sound like my Mum.’

His eyes fall from my face then, they move to take in my probably bruised neck, he reaches out to touch what he sees. I move away, duck his hand, I don't think about, it's not a choice, it just happens. His fingers fly away, like my aura is made of fire.

He says, in a terrible whisper, ‘You _look_ like my Mum.’

He moves backwards then, until he hits the sink. He’s put as much space between us as he physically can. His eyes are covered by the palm of a trembling hand, his head is bowed. I'm not sure what to do or what to say, so I say and do nothing. I just stand there. I'm a trained Kingsman agent and I just stand there.

‘Oh, God.’ Eggsy whispers to himself, using the palms of his hands to hit himself on the forehead. His hands are clenched tight, he lets out a long, pained whimper. When he starts to claw at his face, my legs start working again.

‘Eggsy.’ I say quietly, reaching out to  pull his hands down, away from his face. His body bends a little,  so do his knees - my hands are wrapped firmly around his wrists as he lets out a terrible wail. My heart plummets. I look at the half-moon cuts on his palms, at the scratches that litter his head, I'm too worried he'll hit himself again to let his hands go. So, I just hold them down as he whimpers and whines.

‘Eggsy.’ I say, and he’s crying, his head lower than the hands that I hold. I let his wrists go and put my hands on his shoulders, straightening him up a little before he has time to cover his face or hit himself again. His face is turned away, his mouth is twisted in defiant disgust. He's disgusted with himself. I feel my heart shatter.

‘You never have to see me again. I'll go. I promise.’ He says, tears slipping over the curves of his lips, into his mouth, ‘You'll never see me.  I'll never hurt you again. I swear, Harry. I swear on my Mum’s life, I'll leave and never come back. I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry.’ He reaches up, the movement is gentle, so I take my hand off his shoulder, I let him complete the motion, he ghosts a palm under my chin, but he never makes contact.

‘I can't let you leave.’ I say, my voice hoarse, ‘I love you.’

‘I _hurt_ you.’ He says, forcing his eyes to meet mine, ‘I promised my Mum I'd never be like her but I've become them instead – all of those horrible men that have hurt her and taken what they wanted.’

‘This, today, it wasn't your fault.’ I try, slowly moving a hand towards him, wiping tears from his red cheeks.

‘There’s no one to blame but me.’ He says.

‘You were rudely awaken, you went into fight mode. You wanted to protect those that you love.’ I reason, cupping the back of his neck.

‘Then I hurt you again.’ He says with a grimace.

‘I made a poor attempt at a joke. I shouldn't have. It wasn't funny.’ I offer and he shakes his head.

‘So, that gave me the right to push you about? _Harry_.’ He whispers.

‘You thought I was making light of a horrific situation that you live with day in, day out.’ I say sadly and he shrugs off my hand, I let it fall away.

‘Harry, you were just trying to tell me it was okay. It wasn't.’ He says, sniffling, ‘And now it's really not.’

‘I love you.’ He says, leaning in to press a gentle kiss against my cheek, his damp lips wetting my skin, ‘You were the first person I ever loved. You should remember that.’

As he moves back, I shake my head and say, ‘ _Don't_.’

‘How can I stay?’ He counters.

‘You love me. You _love_ me.’ I offer weakly, and tears begin to slip from his eyes again. He's silent for a moment, we both are, trying to make this okay, desperate to make it okay. Looking for a way out, a door that we can lock this afternoon behind.

‘Hit me.’ He says suddenly, his eyes pleading with me to understand.

‘ _What?_ ’ I reply quickly, instinctively, ‘No.’

‘Hit me, _please_. Please, just hit me. I won't move, I swear. I can take it. I can take it.’ He begs, reaching out to touch my chest - I wonder if he can feel my heart aching beneath his fingertips.

‘I won't hurt you.’ I say firmly, ‘Not _ever_ , do you understand me?’

His face falls again and he nods, ‘I'm sorry. I'm so fucked up. _Christ_ , Harry. I'm so fucked up.’

‘You're not what you think you are.’ I say, touching his arm again, terrified of him slipping away from me, ‘You’re not a monster.

‘I feel like a monster.’ He whispers, his breath catching in his throat.

‘Monsters don't feel like monsters.’ I say and then,  ‘I felt like a monster, after the church.’

‘The church wasn't your fault, Harry.’ He says softly, with great tenderness, no doubt remembering the effort he'd had to put in to convince me that I was okay, that I wasn't an abomination.

‘ _This_ wasn't your fault. You were scared, Eggsy.’ I say and he closes his eyes.

He nods then, as he pulls away from me, his eyes lingering on my neck. His lips threatening to shake as he kisses the tips of his finger and lays  them softly against my neck. A seed of hope planted in my belly when he smiles.

Its not until our eyes meet again that I understand it’s a goodbye.

I try to stop him as he pulls his hand away, stumbling over my words like a fool, but by the time a broken _please_ slips past my lips he’s gone. He's just _gone_. Lost like a ghost in the snow.

I can barely hold myself together, my legs are not my own, my feet are too heavy. I manage to sit at the table and I stare at the half-eaten food with two sore, unfocused eyes.

I don't know what to do, so I phone Merlin.

He picks up on the second ring.

‘Hello?’ He says slowly, like he's been asleep, no doubt curled up on his sofa on this rare day off -  I feel guilty for disturbing him, but there’s something fundamentally reassuring in his tone.

I don't know what to say, where to start. So, I say nothing.

‘Harry?’ He asks, concerned, and suddenly I can hear him moving, sitting up, as I breathe at him down the line, ‘Harry, what's going on?’

‘I need you to come over.’ I say, sounding awful.

‘Are you okay?’ He asks then, ‘Is Eggsy okay?’

Tears start rolling down my cheeks then and I say, ‘He left me, Merlin, he's gone.’

There's a brief pause before I hear the clatter of keys and he says, ‘I'll be there in ten minutes.’

To pass the time, those ten minutes that feel like ten hours, I scrape the uneaten food off the plates, into the bin. Then I slide the plates into the sink and start scrubbing and scrubbing at stains that don't exist - until Merlin uses his key to let himself in.

He walks straight up to me, taking away my silver scourer, my fingertips raw from scrubbing.

My shoulders sag as my friend lays his warm palm across the small of my back.

‘What happened?’ He asks, running his hand higher, up my spine, to rest at the spot between my shoulder blades.

I don't know how to explain, so I just turn around. Waiting for Merlin to react to the marks on my neck, the marks I'm yet to look at for myself.

Merlin's eyes widen in confusion.

‘Eggsy did this?’ He says in that perpetual soft but firm way of his.

‘He fell asleep, when he woke up he thought he was at his Mum’s, he thought Dean was here, he didn't know who I was. He was disorientated. It wasn't his fault.’ I explain quickly, practically pleading with him to understand me. In any other circumstances, I’d be embarrassed about the desperation that pours out of my mouth.

‘Sit down.’ He replies after the briefest of pauses. I do as I'm told. Then I watch as he navigates with ease around my kitchen, stuffing a tea towel with ice cubes.

He walks over to me, gets on his knees, and slowly tilts my chin upwards. As he holds the towel against my skin I shiver, my eyes tracing the dull white tiles on the ceiling.

‘Are you hurt anywhere else?’ Merlin asks calmly.

‘No. I'm fine, honestly.’ I say, my throat feeling odd as it moves against the cold cloth.

‘How was he when he left? Should we be worried about any other people he may come into contact with?’ Merlin asks, trying to asses the situation.

‘He was devastated. Disgusted. Disgusted with himself. The only person he's a danger to is himself.’ I say quietly, still haunted by the look on his face as he fell apart.

‘Do you want to involve the police?’ Merlin asks and I shake my head.

‘Are you scared of him?’ He says then, and I tilt my head in confusion.

‘Your hands are trembling.’ I look down, he's right, I ball my hands into fists.

‘I'm not scared of him.’ I say defiantly, ‘I'm scared _for_ him.’

‘Then, I'll find him. I'll make sure he's okay.’ Merlin offers, switching hands, shaking feeling back into his icy fingers.

‘Bring him back.’ I say and Merlin pulls the cloth away from my neck.

‘I'll talk to him. Asses the risk.’ Merlin says, only the softness in his eyes betraying his matter-of-fact tone of voice.

‘There's no risk.’ I utter quickly, Merlin is less convinced. But he doesn’t seem angry with Eggsy, he doesn't seem anything but calm and in control. I’ve never been more grateful for that.

‘It doesn't hurt to make sure.’ He says, ‘Come on, pack a bag. You can stay with me for a few days.’

‘There’s no need-‘

‘Come on.’ He says again, climbing to his feet.

 ****  
And part of me is glad that I don't have to be alone.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was never supposed to end like this, it was supposed to be happy! But as I was writing it, I decided that allowing everything to be instantly okay seemed like a tremendous disservice to both Eggsy and Harry. Maybe one day I'll write a follow up!


End file.
